WTF did I just read?

>excellent prose
Yeah, paragraph long sentences and more ands you can throw a horse and jockey at

Thats the point dummy. Its meant to mimic the prose of the bible. Its not really hard to follow

>not understanding stylistic choice

Bet you think some of Nick Land's writing that tries to mimic techno beats is shit as well.

This has to be bait but I'll bite like the riled up fish I am. Why don't you yourself elaborate upon your own criticisms of 'psycho teenagers moody violent fantasy'? Give us an example of what violent parts of the novel considered juvenile and then we at least have a point to jump off of.

You can't really criticize other people lashing out at you when you yourself haven't really offered any intellectual criticism yourself.

>this thing was boring as fuck and felt like it was halfway between an advert for tortillas and a psycho teenagers moody violent fantasy. 0/10
Fess up, OP. Is this just a troll or are you actually this fucking stupid? I sincerely want to know.

>pathetic. I think I'll stay here and educate you all on how a literature forum should operate.

wow check it out, the sheriff has rolled into town

>Hi! I'm retarded
>Hi! I have the IQ of fucking GRAPE SODA
>Hi! I make Donald Trump look like Steven Hawking
>Hi! Even actual chimpanzees think I'm a dumbass
But you get my drift.

I disliked The Road as well, Blood Meridian is much better.

ah, blood meridian, monsieur? that novel is the sark and chaparral of literature, the filament whereon rode the remuda of highbrow, corraled out of some destitute hacienda upon the arroya, quirting and splurting with main and with pyrolatrous coagulate of lobated grandiloquence. our eyes rode over the pages, monsieur, of that slatribed azotea like argonauts of suttee, juzgados of swole, bights and systoles of walleyed and tyrolean and carbolic and tectite and scurvid and querent and creosote and scapular malpais and shellalagh. we scalped, monsieur, the gantlet of its esker and led our naked bodies into the rebozos of its mennonite and siliceous fauna, wallowing in the jasper and the carnelian like archimandrites, teamsters, combers of cassinette scoria, centroids of holothurian chancre, with pizzles of enfiladed indigo panic grass in the saltbush of our vigas, true commodores of the written page, rebuses, monsieur, we were the mygale spiders too and the devonian and debouched pulque that settled on the frizzen studebakers, listening the wolves howling in the desert while we saw the judge rise out of a thicket of corbelled arches, whinstone, cairn, cholla, lemurs, femurs, leantos, moonblanched nacre, uncottered fistulas of groaning osnaburg and kelp, isomers of fluepipe and halms awap of griddle, guisado, pelancillo.

The Judge is just one of the most amazing characters in all of fiction. He is violence or war or death or the devil. I think I laughed out loud when he did the bit about "I represent the captain in all legal affairs."